


pull me back from things divine

by poutings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Marauders, but it’s Cute, idk what this is tbh, it’s soft and it’s cute but it kinda doesn’t make sense, james and peter are there for like two seconds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 11:00:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12409053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poutings/pseuds/poutings
Summary: Remus absently wonders when this had become so second nature that neither of them even register it anymore, but shakes his head to chase the thought away.





	pull me back from things divine

**Author's Note:**

> like the tags say, this kind of doesn't make any sense. it started out as one thing and ended up as another. but regardless, I hope you enjoy this

It officially becomes a _thing_ in sixth year. 

Before now, it had been this: Remus letting Sirius rest his head on his lap on the train ride home after first year, his fingers coming up hesitantly to brush the hair out of his eyes; Sirius letting out a soft breath and one word— _more_ ; Remus smiling despite the butterflies warring in his stomach; Sirius falling asleep faster than any of them had ever seen him do. And this: Sirius figuring out Remus was a werewolf in second year; Remus running, hiding, crying because he’d lose the only friends he’d ever had; Sirius crawling into his bed at night, holding him close and assuring him they weren’t going anywhere— _he_ wasn’t going anywhere; Remus believing him, through second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth year. 

Now, it was this: Remus letting Sirius crawl into his bed late at night, his fingers automatically coming to rest deep in his hair; Sirius whispering nothings into his ear; Remus smiling along with the butterflies in his stomach; Sirius falling asleep right before Remus drifts off himself, both of them peaceful and unaffected by the nightmares that used to plague them. 

 

The two of them sit in the Common Room, Sirius’ head in Remus’ lap as Remus reads a book he’d forgotten about until he found it at the bottom of his trunk. He’s balancing his attention between the pages in front of him and Sirius’ hair in between his fingers. 

The other boy appears to be asleep, and Remus is glad he’s finally getting some rest. He’d been up late last night, sitting beside Remus in bed and insisting he get some sleep because  _I’ll go to bed in an hour, Moony, I swear_ , but he knew Sirius hadn’t slept at all. 

He cards his fingers through Sirius’ hair as he reads the same page for the third time, trying to absorb the words instead of thinking about Sirius’ smile. 

They’d been lounging in the grass earlier when Remus had said something that made Sirius laugh, which in itself wasn’t new—and neither were the butterflies dancing in Remus’ stomach—but the way Remus’ brain had supplied the word _love_ when Sirius threw his head back had made his whole body jolt. 

He thinks about it now, his book finally abandoned, as he looks down at Sirius’ fluttering eyelashes. He’s dreaming. Remus smiles softly because he knows it’s a good one—he hasn’t woken up screaming yet, which is always a good sign.

As if Sirius knows he’s thinking about him, his eyes open slowly and immediately lock with Remus’. He doesn’t even have time to feel like a deer caught in headlights because Sirius smiles at him, slow and goofy, and Remus’ heart _jumps_. 

“Hey,” Remus says softly.

“Moony,” Sirius says around a yawn, and there’s that word again in the back of his mind.

“How was your nap?” 

Sirius’ smile widens. “Excellent. I had a great pillow.” 

And when he winks at him, Remus feels his heart in his throat. 

“What about you? How’s your book?”

Remus glances down at it, having forgotten about it yet again. “Oh,” he says. “Couldn’t get into it really.”

Sirius smirks at him. “Yeah?” 

He wills the butterflies to dance quieter. He wants to hear nothing but the sound of Sirius laughing quietly.

The universe has other plans though it seems because at that moment James and Peter come crashing through the Portrait Hole, laughing and arguing about who _really_ hit that Slytherin with that Jelly Jinx. 

Remus huffs a breath as Sirius sits up slowly—reluctant, it seems, to leave the comfort of Remus’ lap. 

Remus is reluctant to have him go. 

“And the peace was broken,” Sirius says close to his ear as he settles in next to him, stretching his arms above his head, his shirt riding up and exposing a line of his stomach that Remus definitely doesn’t stare at. 

He laughs slightly at Sirius’ words and says, “I’ll never focus on my book now.”

Sirius looks at him, scooting closer to press their thighs together. “Oh, Moony. Certainly, if you can’t focus with my head in your lap, you never will.” 

Remus shakes his head, bring his arm up to rest on the back of the couch behind Sirius’ head. “Arse,” he mutters. 

At that moment James wanders over, trailing his fingers absently through the ends of Sirius’ hair.

“Hey,” Sirius says, “you know the rules.”

James groans softly. “I know, I know.” He stops then, looks at the two of them pressed together on the couch, and opens his mouth. “Why is Moony allowed to touch your hair?”  


“He’s not,” Sirius says plainly. 

“He’s literally touching it right now,” James complains. 

Sirius turns his head slightly, and Remus stills his hand, only just realizing he’s been carding it through Sirius’ hair the whole time he’s been sitting there. 

“Moony,” he whines, dragging out his name. 

“I wanna touch it,” James says, already reaching his hand out.

Sirius smacks it away. “Prongs,” he says warningly. 

“What?” he asks innocently. “It looks soft.”

“It is,” Remus says, finally breaking his silence and continuing to run his hand through Sirius’ hair. He doesn’t seem to notice. Remus absently wonders when this had become so second nature that neither of them even register it anymore, but shakes his head to chase the thought away.

Sirius shoots him a look that says _not helping_ and turns back to James. “No one’s allowed to touch my hair.” He glances at Remus again, and slowly adds, “Not even Moony.” 

Remus makes a sound of disapproval in the back of his throat and James just stares at them. 

“You do know,” James starts, looking between the two of them, “that his hand is _still_ in your hair, right? The whole time you’ve been talking, Moony has been running his fingers through your hair.” 

Remus stills his hand again and finally removes it, placing it in his lap tenderly—like it’s something holy. Or like it’s _touched_ something holy. 

Sirius whines at the loss of Remus’ hand, though apparently against his will, because he slaps a hand over his mouth as soon as the sound escapes. “Shit,” he says quietly. 

James looks like he’s torn between laughing and running away. “When did this happen?”

“When did what happen?” Remus repeats. 

James just sighs and shakes his head, walking away as he mutters something under his breath.

Remus looks over at Sirius. “What was that about?”

Sirius is quiet, though, which only faintly surprises him. He shrugs his shoulders, stretching out to lay his head in Remus’ lap again. “How often do you touch my hair?” he asks, and that _really_ surprises Remus. 

“Uh,” he says. Eloquent. But he has to think about it because it could be often, it could be never, Remus doesn’t actually _know_. 

He vaguely recalls running his hands through Sirius’ hair the other night as he was falling asleep. And last week as they sprawled in the grass by the Great Lake. And a couple days ago at breakfast when Sirius had received a letter from his family. 

But those memories were hazy at best—the kind that have that faint white light around the edges that make Remus wonder whether they actually happened or if he just dreamt them. 

“Not that often,” he decides on.

Sirius looks at him skeptically. 

“It’s second nature,” Remus admits, steeling himself. “I don’t think either of us really notice it anymore.”

“If we ever did,” Sirius says. He looks like he’s thinking about it. Maybe trying to recall instances where he’d been aware Remus was even touching him. 

Remus feels a dull ache in his chest—the butterflies have gone blessedly silent, but in their absence there’s still a slight thrumming. He tries to remember a time his body didn’t hum when Sirius was so close, but his mind is empty. 

“It’s always been kind of different with you.” Sirius speaks quietly, and Remus stares down at him, trying to imagine the thoughts flying around his head right now. He knows Sirius is thinking dizzyingly fast, trying to find the right words to describe exactly how _different_ it is with Remus. 

He imagines his heart beating in time with Sirius’ thoughts, his hand coming up to absently run through his friend’s hair. 

“You’re doing it,” Sirius whispers and Remus stills his hand. “No, don’t stop.” 

He moves again, slowly, _reverently_ , his fingers gliding through the soft hair at the nape of Sirius’ neck. He decides to voice the question he’d thought of earlier. “When did this become something that just happened? That we didn’t even register anymore?” 

Sirius shakes his head slightly, Remus’ hand moving along with him. “You’ve always been different,” he says again. 

Remus doesn’t say anything—doesn’t _breathe_ —he just waits. Waits for Sirius to say what he’s thinking. Waits for Sirius to realize. 

He knows it must be important if Sirius is taking so much time to collect his thoughts, to mull things over in his head. So often, words spew from his mouth so fast Remus feels dizzy trying to keep up with him. 

Now, though, time seems to have slowed down. Sirius closes his eyes as Remus’ hand brushes across his forehead, his lips parting, moving silently, testing the words he’ll speak. 

And Remus waits. 

Finally, Sirius reaches up and takes Remus’ hand, pulling it down to lay on his chest, his own fingers knotting with his. 

“I’ve always felt it,” he starts and Remus watches his lips form the words. “Even that first day on the train, when we didn’t even know each other. You had such a pull to you that I immediately knew. I was so young back then, but I knew. Fuck.” 

Remus doesn’t know what to do. He sits there with his hand and his heart in Sirius’. 

“And then in second year when we—I knew even more then. If that makes sense. I knew it then because nothing changed. Because you were still you. Moony. You were the same as you’d always been. The same as you are. And my heart still did that weird jumping thing whenever you looked at me. And I fucking knew. I thought about it a lot, but I never let myself hope. You know? I didn’t want to…”

Sirius trails off and Remus can’t take his eyes off of him. He knows what Sirius is saying, and the butterflies are there and they’ve brought backup, and his heart is crawling out of his chest and into Sirius’ palm, and Remus knows too. 

He doesn’t speak, though. He wants to make sure Sirius says everything he wants to. 

“But there was always that voice in the back of my head,” he continues. He doesn’t look at Remus, hasn’t this whole time. But Remus is mesmerized. “The one that told me _maybe. Maybe this could happen_. And sometimes I believed it, but others I just told it to fuck off and leave me alone. But now…” He finally looks up and meets Remus’ eyes. Remus can’t look away. Not even if he wanted to. “Now, I think it’s right.”

And Remus still doesn’t say anything, just leans down and slots their mouths together. It’s a weird angle and he’s smiling too big to properly kiss Sirius, but he thinks it’s the best kiss he’s ever had. 

“It’s right,” Remus says when he pulls away. "It’s always been right. I knew, too. The second I saw you, I knew. We both knew. What the fuck?” he says with a laugh. “Hell, I think James knew.”

Sirius smiles at him. “I think half the school knew.” 

“Why didn’t we notice it?” 

“Believe me, I tried,” Sirius says. “I looked for it every time I saw you. You’re good at hiding it.” 

Remus shrugs. “I’m a good liar.”

“Not as good as you think,” he tells him with a smirk and Remus just shrugs again. “You’re better at pretending than you are at lying. There’s a difference,” Sirius adds when Remus gives him a look. 

“Well, then, so are you.” 

“It helps when the whole school makes up stories about you.” 

Remus cringes. He thinks of the rumors he’d heard but never let himself fully believe—whether out of desperate hope or loyalty to his friend, he’s not sure. 

“Do you want to go to bed?” Remus asks, deciding to ignore what Sirius said. 

He doesn’t respond, just rolls over so he can stand up while still holding Remus’ hand. 

They walk through the Common Room, hands entwined and hearts beating together, and up the stairs to their dormitory. When they step through the doors, James looks up at them. 

“Fucking knew it,” he mutters, turning back to the Quidditch magazine he was reading. 

“Knew what?” Peter asks, sticking his head around the curtain of his bed. His eyes land on Sirius and Remus’ hands. “Oh. Yeah. Cheers, guys,” he says with a smile and pulls the curtains closed again. 

“We’re happy for you, lads,” James says without looking up, but there’s a wide smile on his face. “Finally got your shit together.”

Sirius snorts and Remus smiles. 

“Guess so,” Remus says. 

They both head straight for Remus’ bed, shuffling onto it and laying back together. 

Remus sits still as Sirius mutters a silencing charm, and as soon as he’s done, he pulls him flush against him and kisses him. 

This time, it’s the perfect cliche. There are fireworks and butterflies and angels singing and every fucking thing Remus could ever imagine. And it’s better than anything he’s ever experienced because—fuck—he _loves_ this boy. He loves Sirius. And the thought no longer drowns him. Instead, it lifts him up and he feels like he’s floating. 

Here, kissing his best friend, the boy he’s loved for six years, Remus has never felt happier. 

They break apart and Remus’ breathing comes in rappid gasps, and Sirius is right there—a hand on the back of his neck and a leg in between his thighs—and Remus lets the words spill out of his mouth. 

Sirius sits there staring at him, the fingers on his neck making small circles in his hair. “I love you, too,” he says and all the starts fall from the sky, surrounding them in Remus’ fourposter bed. 

He feels as if his face is going to split in half, but he thinks maybe he’d like that if it means he’d never stop smiling. And then Sirius is laughing and they’re falling back against Remus’ pillows. 

“We’re in love,” Remus whispers. And it’s quiet, _awed_. 

Sirius trails his fingers down Remus’ chest, and back up again, finally settling just above his heart. 

“Yeah, we are.” 

And Sirius kisses him again. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! as usual, sorry for any mistakes and typos. I'll most likely read this back and edit it later, but till then... I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
